


Transmutation

by MercuryMapleKey



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Conditioning, Dubious Consent, Feeding, M/M, Past Mentions of Branding, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Shockwave Syndrome, Size Kink, Solitary Confinement, Starvation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryMapleKey/pseuds/MercuryMapleKey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Increased only in his defiance through certain events Blurr must learn the hard way that his actions have consequences and his words only power against him.<br/>Lucky for Shockwave he turns out to be quite the speedy little learner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transmutation

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat of an exact sequel to Metallurgy. If I had planned things better that would be more obvious. But I did promise smut next time now didn't I?

It was a fine art; one that took dedication, repetition, an implicit but forceful touch, and above all else; time. An investment. There were other ways of doing it if one knew how the mechanics worked, and Shockwave did, but while directly tampering with the processor was certainly an option – and a more efficient one at that – it was unlikely such a method would yield the same fine-tuned results he desired. Nothing more than a sloppy shadow of what could be was liable to be produced through such a method. Some possessions were far too valuable to risk breaking. And wasn’t it said by some that the journey was just as important as the destination? Not that Shockwave was apt to believe in the fragmented teachings of the cyber-ninja bastardized for the masses; but in the case of Blurr’s reprogramming the proverb held its ground.

               Since his insignia had been replaced Blurr had redoubled his efforts in resistance: useless ultimately. A slow process ensured conditioning was ingrained into basal circuitry, code writing itself into the depths of his processor where it could not be removed. Hardly a revolutionary concept, in fact the overwriting code was so natural that something as simple as habitualization could remain indefinitely, and trauma was enough to reroute files entirely. The only method of winning against such a system was to be aware of the influences it carried in the first place; as a product of post-war Iacon the little bot was not.

              

               Blurr was frustrated. It was a dangerous state to be in and he knew it, but couldn’t quite help the feeling from trickling in regardless. Restless, anxious, trapped. The monster in the room with him could see it too, and that put Blurr in an even worse position; Shockwave would use any angle he could. In a slow motion practically dripping with its own deliberance the con lay two claws heavy on the junction between blue shoulder plate and neck. Blurr tried not to flinch away from it. He wasn’t successful but the weight of Shockwave’s servo kept him from reeling too far back. From the glint of cold red optic Blurr could derive no intention behind the movement, but then he almost never could. The air was still and heavy whenever Shockwave was around – at least once a solar cycle, though more regularly as of late – and Blurr glued his own optics to the floor with a shudder. Whatever it was today, he wanted no part in it.

               Shockwave had the uncanny ability to read his mind. “You’ve been resistant as of late Blurr.” The servo on his shoulder moved down in an unhurried line to brush past the scarring brand on his chestplate and curl around the soft black mesh of his midsection. He did everything at an unbearably sluggish pace way out of tempo from everything else; Blurr hated it. Unceremoniously he was drawn closer and Blurr tried to resist that too but stumbled forward regardless.

               “I know you’re aware of the repercussions for disobedience.” There was a pattern, there had to be a pattern; some kind of tell that would inform Blurr of what was to be expected of him with each visit the tank made. Shockwave did everything through a series of algorithms, even Longarm had been very timely. As a result Blurr had learnt precisely the timespan he had between each visit, when Shockwave would bring with him the cubes of surprisingly high graded fuel that served as his rations, and just how many kliks the con could stand before he needed to reach out and touch his possession once more. It was something to rely on. It kept him grounded, and Blurr had even learned to tell the day and night cycle based on how much patience Shockwave retained; the slagger was not a morning mech it seemed. His prison had no windows, no day-night cycle, no stimulus of any kind, the lights were shut off when Shockwave left, and remained so until he returned. Blurr had been trained to look for little cues that organized information and prepped him to anticipate the next action, it was such an ingrained procedure he did it near autonomously and looked for it everywhere. But here there was nothing. No algorithm, no reason, and no way for Blurr to predict just when Shockwave intended to _use_ him and how to prepare for it. Only made all the more disconcerting by how startlingly – blessedly – seldom the occurrences were. Sporadic but almost intentional cravings for his frame that left Blurr shaking and sick and not at all certain he had escaped the worst scenario.

               Blurr felt sick now. “Leave me alone, Shockwave. Get your filthy servos off of me right this instant.” He was terrified, spark fluttering wildly and legs tensing for action with an all too obvious shudder. Dutifully he tried to recall if something should have tipped him off this time, if he should have _known_ this was coming. There was nothing.

               Those were not the words he was looking for. Shockwave tightened his grip until the reinforced alloy of his claws bit into Blurr’s protoform mesh. “Are you sure those words are wise?” Shockwave’s words were level, calm, even when fragments of annoyance or agreeance could be made from the tone there was very little fluctuation; Blurr hated that too. The speedster grit his denta as he was brought unbearably close to Shockwave’s single optic, fighting down fluttering sensations of panic and wrenching his helm away. It was only a warning though, Shockwave had more to say. “I would think by now you would know what is required to make this easier on yourself.” Blurr was pulled closer still to that dreadful optic and did his best to look defiant, to look brave. Shockwave saw right through it. “You have to help yourself, Blurr.”

               That struck a chord within the speedster. Frustration, he’d been so frustrated before with a patternless cycle he could not escape. Every time it was different. Every time it broke him down a little more, and every time he became a little more accustomed to the thought of it. At times it seemed that Shockwave’s only real goal was to keep him as confused as possible for as long as possible – but that couldn’t be all it was.

Shockwave’s free servo roamed his frame and Blurr thrashed angrily. Every time it was different. Sometimes the reason he should submit was due to his feelings for Longarm (past feelings for Longarm), other times he was forced to admit that no one was coming for him. There were so many reasons as to why his fight was futile, so many reasons he’d wrestled with on his own. Shockwave found each and brought them back to him on the brink of fear, and hate, and ugly carnal pleasure. They left Blurr cold and dead and filled with only Shockwave instead. In his darkest moments, right after when the door had shut, the lights had blackened, and Blurr was still chilled with cleaning solvents he would wonder how much longer he could possibly last under these conditions. The logical answer was ignored.

Every time it was different. And this morning’s reason? That he should know better by now. It was the easier thing to do. He should accept his new reality. _That_ was too much, if there could be a line to this torture Shockwave had finally crossed it.

With a hard kick of his leg and a twist that sent metal screeching against metal in a horrible frantic sound Blurr tore himself free of Shockwave’s grip and collapsed to the ground in a heap. He was up in an instant, but there was nowhere to go and he wasn’t fast enough – with his speed matrix disabled he was _never_ fast enough. The mass of a single servo pinned him to the aggressively bland floor and Blurr was dragged back kicking.

“No, no, no, no! Let me go, let me go!” He couldn’t tell from his own struggling and the quick change in view from the floor to the equally bland walls, but he thought he heard a sigh from Shockwave. It was the sigh one used when dealing with a particularly petulant sparkling.

“It will get easier, little one.”

“Shut up!” He was asking for it. “It will never get easier, I won’t let it, I won’t give you that, I am an _Autobot_ and a member of the Elite Guard and no matter what you try I’ll never give you the satisfaction!” Frantic. Gasping. Shockwave was _touching_ him again: down his legs, across his chestplate, and through responsive wheels. Blurr meant every word with a passion and yet they came out frightened, pathetic, and weak. He didn’t want this.

Shockwave was unconcerned with what he wanted. “You will in time.”

“I’d rather be dead.”

All at once everything stopped. And it did so with such finality that for a moment the only thing Blurr could hear was the overstressed whirring of his own vents. In a moment that lasted forever Shockwave regarded him with inclined helm through that optic he’d learned to hate. Nothing was said, which was against the algorithm and alone made Blurr more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Then all at once the claws around him released and retracted. Blurr hit the floor for the second time that morning with a yelp and a painful twist on his pede.

“So be it.”

What? Alarmed, Blurr lifted himself up only to discover in horror that Shockwave was leaving. It was abnormal, it was unprecedented, he _never_ left without first getting what he wanted. Blurr didn’t know what was expected; was he to reach out and stop him, did he even want to? The room pitched in darkness as Shockwave left with only the soft sounds of the door lock filling his absence. He’d messed up. He’d really messed up. With a servo jammed against the scar on his chestplate Blurr panicked, but alone in the blackness of his prison no one heard or stopped him.

 

* * *

 

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four, five.

One, two, three, four...

Blurr had been concentrating on nothing but his own venting for what felt like a vorn. It could have been a vorn. No it couldn’t. Not enough vents for a vorn quite yet. It had been a megacycle. Only a megacycle? Groggily he checked his chronometer – still working due only to his own stubborn insistence that he monitor just how long he’d been held captive – and saw that his estimate was indeed correct. Quickly he returned to his paced cycling before panic could set in again. The effort was only mildly successful but there was always the count to focus on. The count. Blurr knew exactly how many full vents it took for a breem to pass and through quick calculation knew too the precise count needed for a megacycle, solar cycle, decacycle, even a vorn and beyond. Yes Blurr had deciphered the exact time it would take in bouts of nine until the walls rusted and crumbled around him; until whichever rock he was on ceased to exist at all. He would have loved to count it out with his pedes but such an expenditure of energy was beyond foolish. He was so tired. It had been more than a lunar cycle if his internal readings were to be believed. More than a lunar cycle since he’d seen anyone. He was alone in the universe but all he could do was wait. And count. He had to keep counting. There was no way out. No way. Trapped.

He’d been trapped before.

One, two, three, four. It was his fault.

One, two, three, four, five. He was so sorry.

One, two—

There were footsteps outside. He couldn’t hear it, suspected the room he was in was soundproof as well, but he’d learned to _feel_ it. Any stimulus was enough to be shocking and loud in the unnatural stillness he was caged in, and the floor vibrated with the distinctive dull echo of heavy pedes and a long stride. Blurr’s spark twisted with something he couldn’t describe. It could be anything, the rational part of his processor insisted, he didn’t know what was outside and who could be roaming the halls but it was the first time he’d felt footsteps in _so long_. This time he felt it; they were for _him_ this time. Blurr tensed, paled optics washing his forearms in soft blue light. He had lost his count. The footfalls vanished, no they came to a stop, and Blurr stopped venting entirely straining any and all extraneous systems to his audios. Desperately he waited to hear the beep and whirr of the locking mechanism on his door, the one he’d tried so many times to bust and for a moment worried that he truly had broken it.

He never heard the sound but the door opened all the same, spilling harsh white light into his dark room. Blurr offlined his optics from the onslaught and curled further into himself on the scuffed floor in a bid to find relief.

“I trust you’ve had enough time to think things over?” The door slammed again, not so much with a sound as with a sudden jolt back into darkness, this time accompanied by the hot glow of red biolights. Shockwave.

His spark jumped.

Dumbly Blurr struggled to a kneel with pedes tucked underneath and servos folded neatly in his lap. From this position his stomach felt more as if it had been cleaved out entirely, but it didn’t matter. He’d be good this time. He’d be so good.

“I see that you have.” A firm press to the back of his helm brought Blurr’s optics up to meet Shockwave’s one. As always it was cold and unreadable. Blurr could have wept with relief looking into it.

“Shockwave…” His name felt dark and heavy even through the whine and static of Blurr’s failing vocaliser but he was okay now; he’d be okay. In the chilling presence of his tormentor – he’d hated that presence for so long – he found treacherous refuge. No longer alone in the dark where the bland walls lay too close together.

Shockwave was not unaware of his own part to play. He pet Blurr’s helm and the speedster shuddered. “I know. You’re hungry aren’t you?”

Of course he was hungry. He’d been starved. However with fuel tanks lingering on fumes Blurr only nodded, optics locked onto his captors and silently begging. Because he needed him; he had no one else. He was so hungry.

A lifetime ago on Cybertron Blurr had been someone of note; an elite guardsman and an agent ranked high in his field. On Velocitron he’d reached celebrity status with his record-breaking top speed and winning streak. Here Shockwave regarded him for the tiny thing he truly was. It upset him, it frustrated him; it was the truth.

All too soon the consolatory claw on his helm stopped in its movements. If he caught a tone in Shockwave’s voice, it was a quiet warning. “You wouldn’t be hungry if you hadn’t used all your energy trying to escape.” There was no need to look to see the sharp dents and angry marks littering the previously plain blank walls and Shockwave didn’t bother moving his optic from his speedster’s.

Guilt. Hot guilt. It stabbed through his core and through his biting hunger like a blade. Becoming frantic in an instant, Blurr grasped at the smooth curve of Shockwave’s pede. “No! No, the walls—I didn’t try to escape!” He choked on static and refused to stop. “The walls kept closing in, they looked—they keep closing in Shockwave, I can’t, I can’t let it happen again!” Delirious with more than hunger, Blurr raved like a glitch and pawed at Shockwave’s pede again. He _had_ tried to escape, but only because he feared losing this frame as he had his original. “I’m sorry Shockwave, I didn’t try to escape.”

“Shh.” Blurr stopped as quickly as he’d started and Shockwave lifted him from the floor as if he really were hollow inside. In nothing but a few short strides they’d crossed the room to the simple berth that served as the room’s sole decoration. He hadn’t earned anything else yet. The berth itself was sprinkled with localised scratches and tears where he’d previously tried to rip it apart for uses far outside its intended purpose. All attempts had been unsuccessful.

The room was still dark, dangerously dark, and Blurr clutched weakly to Shockwave with nothing else to ground him. Curling around his monster’s chestplate he wanted to retch and didn’t know why. He was so hungry. Shockwave sat on the berth and situated Blurr into a seated position on his lap like a puppet. He was so big, and warm and cold at the same time. Blurr whimpered and the tank shushed him again; patient, accepting. From somewhere on his frame he produced a cube of energon, it was tiny in comparison to the huge claws holding it and sparkled in the deep lighting with a glimmer of red. Blurr’s spark and fuel tanks both skipped a step; it was _his_ energon.

               Breathily he lurched towards it. The acrid scent was faint but still detectable and sent his processor and equilibrium spinning. He wanted it. Blurr pressed a servo into Shockwave’s side and whined again, unable to cross the distance to where the cube was held out for him. If the teasing allure of fuel hadn’t been clouding his processor he could have deciphered what that meant. Luckily Shockwave was there for him.

“Tell me what you need, Blurr.” He had to help himself.

Blurr shuttered his optics, swaying. His words where a whisper but they were all he could manage. “Please Shockwave. Please I need to eat.” That was it. That was the final hurdle he had to jump. Carefully he was steadied on Shockwave’s lap, soothing caresses worked into his side as the cube was brought closer. Soft, gentle, nice. Blurr arched towards that which he needed, grabbing at claws and cube trying to drag them closer, quicker and threatening to spill it as a result. Immediately Shockwave withdrew and Blurr nearly wailed.

“No, no, no, no! I’m sorry, I’m sorry Shockwave please don’t do this to me!” He could have been sobbing, perhaps that’s why Shockwave took pity on him. “I need it!”

“You must be patient.”

“I will be!”

They tried again. This time Blurr kept his arms locked at his sides, bowing into Shockwave’s claws instead of arching away from them. It was agonizing. Tentatively he found he was allowed to steady the cube as it was brought closer; it took everything Blurr had to force himself back down from it. Gasping at the scent with reeling fanblades, he cradled Shockwave’s servo with his entire body. Tanks lurched and he felt sick; dizzy to the darkness and surrounded by red light, pink energon, white claws.

The first trickle of fuel hit him with the force of a supernova. At once it became clear why Shockwave had opted for the level of control that he had. Blurr almost pulled back entirely as systems jumped to life hungry and anticipating. He needed it so badly. Greedily he pressed further into the cube, tilting it back and sucking the liquid down. It was too strong a grade for how starved he’d been—too sharp to the taste, too potent to the tanks, but any less and his natural equilibrium would reject it. Even without a functioning speed matrix Blurr had been designed with sensitive systems; they both knew that.

Sharp with concentration, the energon was gulped down with a fervor and Blurr’s processor began to swim with electric sparks of stimulation. He was encouraged above with kind commands and gentle caresses and never allowed to drink too fast though he inevitably tried. If Shockwave eyed him intently as he drank the speedster never noticed; Blurr was enraptured by his energon. He couldn’t get enough – would have licked the cube clean if he’d been allowed. It was so good; energy, fuel, _food._

The thick tang of his treat lingered on Blurr’s glossa long after he’d curled against his captor exhausted with the movement he’d forced his frame through only moments prior. Slowly energon worked its way through his systems fully and for the first time in a long time things seemed clear: Blurr relaxed. He would have been content to stay like that for the decacycle, even started counting his breathing again, but Shockwave didn’t let the moment linger for long.

“How are you feeling?” Still so soft, slow, and gentle. Longarm had been all of these things as well. Kind and orderly, he’d been around for so long and all at once caught Blurr’s optic upon his promotion. Why should Shockwave be so different? He was a Decepticon, and above all a murderer. Blurr knew it and he squirmed closer to the solid expanse of Shockwave’s jet black torso nonetheless. It was dark, he had only a red glow to light his way.

“I’m feeling better, much better, thank you Shockwave.” Was that what he wanted? Optics closed – who know what he’d see if he opened them – Blurr traced the contours and seams where purple and white plating hugged Shockwave’s side. The other was pleased with him, and that made things easy. Blurr was happy too, for a moment. Again Shockwave read his mind.

“You have every reason to be happy here, with me.”

What was he fishing for? Blurr answered immediately before he’d even realised it. The answer was so obvious, so natural, he wondered how he hadn’t thought of it before. “I just have to help myself.”

Muted reverberations through Shockwave’s frame alerted Blurr to his movements above and the ex-intel bot tried to commit them all to memory. It was still dark and silent and empty as it had been every cycle he’d been left alone, every nanoklik. However under the constant watch of Shockwave’s optic, in his heavy servos, the silence didn’t linger and the walls never moved. It was not empty. It was filled with his presence; chilled, dark, and safe.

“Don’t go.” Little servos pressed against the blackness of Shockwave’s frame. It was his fault he needed him, but Blurr couldn’t help himself. “Please don’t go.”

Shockwave could never last long without touching him, a constant feedback of confirmation that the speedster was his entirely, and ran a claw along Blurr’s leg considering. “I am very busy, little one.”

No. No, no, he couldn’t be alone again; not so soon! Blurr quickly grew frantic in his effort to stave off another breakdown. Little kisses came next, dotting up from red biolights to the Decepticon insignia as Blurr shifted onto his kneepads muttering, begging, all the while. “You’re not busy, you’re not busy, please. Please Shockwave don’t go, don’t leave me alone again, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re not busy.” Needy, wanting, Blurr was desperate for the attention alone, but would do what it took to get it. He’d help himself. With his face pressed fast into Shockwave’s chestplate he rocked slender hips against the con, twisted with shame, guilt, and a desire to please. Those tempered claws moved from his legs to his pedes, turning and teasing the hard rubber wheels. Blurr gasped.

“Shockwave...”

“Yes, dear one?”

That was new. The intimacy in the pet name shocked Blurr, and with a startled look into that red round optic he was filled with nothing but dread. He couldn’t do it. Why did he think he could do it? _How_ had he thought—Blurr’s spark seized. His tanks lurched. Smooth claws glided along the sensitive inside curve of one wheel and his speed matrix tried to online sending crude jerks of energy through his frame. At the same time nerve sensors reported pleasure. The result was a violent quake through his frame as Blurr trembled with opposing sensations and a sob. He didn’t want this.

“No, no no no no no no no no no no, no no!” Blurr froze stiff and lurched away. “I can’t do this, I can’t, I won’t—don’t leave but don’t make me do this!” Hysterical.

“Hush.” Heavy servos pressed him flush against broad chestplate once more and Blurr jerked again as his core programming tried to give him the means to escape and failed once more. Venting came too harshly now; Shockwave soothed his servo under blue backshield as Blurr worked himself into a panic. “Shh. You want this.”

“No—“

“You’re scared.” He was scared. “There’s no need to be.”

Blurr panted, little distressed noises escaping his vocaliser. He was trapped between the calming beat of Shockwave’s spark and the gentle touch of his servos, both on his back and trailing back up his leg. Slowly – and yet it could never happen slowly enough – Blurr’s struggles against Shockwave dwindled transposing back into his previous rocking motion. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I know.”

Shockwave’s touch was hot and cold and wonderful and awful all at the same time. It felt so good against him, he rolled forward for more and knew he’d never be able to live with himself. This time he was prepared for the long stroke against his interface panel and retracted the covering without resistance, following through the same with his valve cover. He wouldn’t give himself completely however, and this time Shockwave didn’t make him.

“I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t.” Blurr whined a high note as he worked his building lubricants over the flat curve of Shockwave’s claw. Plagued with shame he offlined his optics, and hid his helm and could only imagine it was through some small act of mercy that Shockwave let him. His hips never ceased their roll, urged only forward by the developing crackle of energy in the air between them. Blurr was wet, and hot, and haunted by Shockwave’s words and Shockwave’s touch and knew he shouldn’t be so. It was wrong, and he was scared – scared of his own enthusiasm. Still Shockwave was pleased; he could tell by the way giant cooling fans whirred to life as the Decepticon watched him rub his valve against what he could in shallow needy movements. It was easier when Shockwave was pleased.

Far above him near the red optic Blurr resolutely refused to meet came dull murmurs of praise. Alone they were more than enough to drag an anguished moan from his pure white lips. Dizzied without his vision and feeling the clutches of panic the darkness provided Blurr opened his optics again to come face to face with the Decepticon insignia and sorely wish he hadn’t. There was no hope he could ever forget however, Shockwave made sure of it.

With stuttering whines and every thrust Blurr passed the tip of Shockwave’s claw over his exterior node slick and easy, and when Shockwave crooked that claw it sunk into the folds of his valve with the same amount of resistance the rest of his frame had provided. Blurr panted hot short bursts that worked themselves in counts of nine in time with his steady up and down. Even one of Shockwave’s claws was enough to fill Blurr’s tiny frame like a regular spike, and easily twice as long, but so smooth to only torturously tease the sensor nodes inside him.

He wanted it to be over. Felt for sure that he’d be sick. Blurr’s denials were unrelenting but quiet, covering neither the squelching noises inside him nor the heady scent of friction and fluid. Long strokes against the fin on his head were gentle but felt sharp as daggers with the bundle of sensor nerves therein. This time Blurr did gasp, flattening himself against Shockwave’s dark frame with a generous curve of his back. Blurr collapsed at the knees and sat heavy in Shockwave’s servo, still squeezing in need around the claw inside him and more than aware of what was coming.

“Look at me Blurr.” Shockwave continued pumping in and out of Blurr’s narrow valve and the little bot shook his helm, sloppily mouthing at black plating.

“Nn—nnn… Nnn—“

Wrong answer. A cruel curve of his claw had Shockwave catching against a ring of nodes inside his speedster. Blurr lost his mind, arched straight upwards, cried only static. He looked at him. He needed him. Something broke within him. And as blue optics met red Blurr finally worked himself into overload, screeching Shockwave’s name with a static pop.

Dark and heavy. Blurr collapsed; still squirming on the spike-sized digit inside him and pretending the stifling heat of the air around them and the scent of soaked metal and hot lubricants wasn’t his doing. Oversensitized nodes fritzed, sending mixed signals shooting through his circuitry whenever they were brushed. In the absence of Shockwave, Blurr was again filled with panic; it was all he could do to beg. “Don’t go. Shockwave please don’t go. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” For what?

If he had seen it a lunar cycle ago Blurr surely would have purged at the sight of himself so desperate and cowed. But how many times since then had Blurr pleaded to the empty room? What was the count for the times he’d sobbed apologies while kicking frantic dents in the wall and screamed for help when he felt someone pass by the box in which he’d trapped himself. A maze of corridors. A dead end. Nowhere to run. Blurr kissed what he could of the dark frame beneath him, charged with a mix of fear and pleasure; he never wanted to feel that way again.

Blunt white digits worked along the line where black plating met purple and dipped into seams that spread for him. Blurr’s voice was a whisper. “Don’t leave me alone in this place.”

Shockwave had no plans as such. “You are fine. I’m here.” And it was true. His spike rose between them with a pressurising hiss and was as everything else about him dark and heavy.

“No, that’s too much.” Blurr keened a reedy note even as he clamped his thighs around the dark black length. It was nearly as thick around as he was and the very notion send a pulse of hysterical fear and something much more viscid straight from his chest to his valve. “It’s too much.” He throbbed against it, sliding in Shockwave lap, unable to think straight. “I-I’ll just…”

Bending at a sharp angle Blurr trust his helm out and mouthed at the head. Servos followed next pressing and palming up the length of his spike as another spasm of high-lining fear and dark desire ran through him. There were no more protests with his mouth busy, just whines and moans escaping his little vocaliser as he twirled his glossa wetly along the ridges and biolight grooves of Shockwave’s spike. The angle was awkward curled around it as he was but Blurr didn’t think to move—didn’t want to. More than anything he needed to stay close to the warmth and the light and the closeness, and Shockwave’s scent, his taste, only made that urgency all the more real. His entire frame was set to the task of rubbing against Shockwave, fast and messy. Cooling fans spinning at their maximum kept the air hot and electric and full. He wasn’t alone. Blurr stretched his lips over the top of Shockwave’s spike, he’d never be able to take it but wanted so badly something to suck on.

“Shockwave!”

“You’re doing so well, Blurr.” Shockwave’s voice was thick as the air around them and Blurr presented such a sight before him, little thing working himself into a frenzy around his spike. In a low noise he rumbled his engine, Blurr followed after with his own sports-model purr and was dragged upwards for it.

The first instinct Blurr had was a fresh bout of panic – he’d don’t something wrong, he didn’t want this – but then Shockwave buried his helm against the speedster’s neck and shoulder and Blurr surged into it. Insistently he moved, grabbing and kissing at the base of tall antenna. The way Shockwave nuzzled into him must have meant something, there was a significance he was sure but Blurr wasn’t convinced he wanted to know the answer and inserted his own instead. He wrapped his mouth around Shockwave’s antenna, where it curved to connect and ran his glossa along it hotly. The tank groaned into him, lowering him until the tip of his spike kissed Blurr’s comparatively tiny valve.

“No, no…” Blurr trailed off in a worried line, whispering into Shockwave’s audio with his servos still locked around his helm. It hurt. It always hurt. He’d been so good this time, but that wouldn’t save him, wouldn’t make this anything meant to work. He was just too small. Blurr quivered, legs locked tense and unsure of which direction he wanted to move.

He didn’t have a choice. He shook his helm, he pulled on Shockwave’s. He was lowered down regardless, valve stretching obscenely over the head of Shockwave’s spike and calipers straining against inner walls for what was to come. Blurr thought he would tear. He never had in the past. Vents hitched and threatened for the second time to work him into a state of hyperventilation in the static air. Brokenly Blurr gasped and writhed and tried to stay still and wished it was over. It hurt. It always hurt.

Shockwave looked at him then, truly looked, catching blue optics fast in the glint of his own and for the first time Blurr thought he could discern some semblance of emotion from the red orb. He wailed. Shockwave sheathed himself further.

“I want to see you like this for the rest of your life.” He admitted, soothing Blurr with touches painful in their pleasure. Blurr shook. Chestplate heaving his body protested from the splintering stretch in his valve to the overworked coolant bubbling in his optics; overstuffed and unable to take any more. A soft string of no’s wrenched haggard from his lips while Shockwave repositioned them and lay back on the berth. Slow, deliberate; Blurr craved it.

“Shockwave please.” Of what he was begging for he didn’t seem to know as he’d already been fed and was not currently left alone. Luckily Shockwave was there for him, moving Blurr at the hips in a slow but steadily building rhythm. Overload hit him on the fourth time down and Shockwave took him deeper still while Blurr moaned hollow and incessant.

“Sh—Sh—Shockwave…” He was filled with nothing else.

Even as Shockwave moved him, move up into him, his optics never left that which he had claimed ownership over. He passed a claw over the brand he’d scarred into his speedster and started at it lovingly. “I know. I know.” Though his movements were paced the strain of keeping them so could be heard laced through his ever even voice. “It’s easier isn’t it?”

Yes. No. Blurr convulsed; scrabbling for something to hold on to and shaking his helm numbly in a direction that was neither confirmation nor denial. Inner nodes hyper-sensitized and rubbed raw were unable to help but send repeated shooting pains of pleasure up his core. Blurr was a mess from helm to pede and he felt it.

“Blurr.” He stroked the brand with an air of near reverence, etching the lines slowly though below he forced Blurr down only faster. “Blurr, tell me what you are.”

He hated him. Blurr gasped and quaked and struggled to move himself in futility; Shockwave had control. “I—I—I—I—“ He was an Autobot! He hated him. Pleasure burned him, squeezed his spark, took him inside and out as he was brought down again and again. Blurr thought he would short-circuit. “Yours!” He wanted it to stop; never wanted it to stop – anything so he wouldn’t have to think and hurt and die anymore.

With what Shockwave wanted wrenched from his core, Blurr slumped forward, defeated. He rocked through another overload in keening moans and waited for Shockwave to be finished. It was just easier this way. Spurned by the desperate clenching of Blurr’s abused valve Shockwave reached his own release and pumped his little one full of transfluid, excess spilling out past stretched rubber and staining silver gobs across them.

Blurr was exhausted, both inside and out. He panted wet against Shockwave, smearing red triangle lights on his front with the mixture of oral solvent and coolant that had mingled on his faceplates. Dead to the known universe, or wishing he was. When Shockwave pulled out there was only pain, unrelenting and real. Scarred and scuffed as the walls he’d tried to break down, Blurr whined. He could only whine. Fluids warm and thick ran down his thighs from the stabbing pain where they met and there was no way to vocalise his discomfort. However he did not need to speak. There was Shockwave, holding him and petting him; soft and gentle as he’d never been. In a murmur he was whispered lovely lies and praises. Blurr wanted to believe them.

“Please don’t leave.” It didn’t matter how many times he asked, Shockwave would all the same. He was very busy; had important things to do, a war to fight, Autobots to destroy, but if Blurr behaved, he would return soon. Blurr was sick with himself again, however this time it wasn’t his tank but his sparkcasing that lurched and clenched unbearably. He hadn’t forgotten…

The lights were turned on so that Shockwave could clean the both of them by means of the wash station that transformed cleanly out of the corner. Only Shockwave could activate it. Blurr had tried countless times just to see if he could take anything back from his prison at all; gain some sort of control. He didn’t want to try it anymore. Frustrated, he’d been so frustrated, but felt only numb now. Would they hate him for submitting? It had been easier in the end; he’d done what he had to in effort to survive, hadn’t he? Blurr wished he could lie so well that he wanted to believe himself too.

Later he would learn that the lights had been left on indefinitely, and in a day night cycle that eased his nerves some and left him feeling considerably less feral. It was a reward. It was proof: life was easier when Shockwave was pleased. An obvious bribe, far too obvious for the likes of Shockwave, but it gave Blurr something to hold on to; something to work towards, a goal he was certain he could meet. Far too long was the span between Blurr’s tentatively eager thoughts and his realisation of what they meant. It scared him; truly scared him. More so than the constant underlying panic of the emptiness, or the loneliness, or how his room seemed smaller with every passing klik Shockwave was away.

Blurr tried to remind himself. He was an Autobot. He was an Autobot, an intelligence agent, a noted member of the Elite Guard.

Was he?

Looking down he saw only the ugly mark of a designation so laboriously carved into him. It suited him. Blurr wept, but alone in the warm midcycle light of his prison no one heard or stopped him.

 

 


End file.
